While the world falls apart around us
by Vampellzy
Summary: Begins with Sara thinking about the young soldier she killed, or Did she?   Rated T for possible later content.
1. Chapter 1

Sara sat holding her baby and rocking back and forth on the stool by the fire. Inman had left shortly after moving the bodies to a safe distance. Now, the image of the young soldier falling down kept replaying in her mind. She had killed a man. She had not been thinking coherently, only a burning hatred for those God-awful Yankee soldiers had burned through, she had acted without thinking. God would punish her for her rashness. Now that she remembered, there had been a Yankee coat over her boy when she pulled him from the ground. The other soldiers were far too heartless to have covered him up. What if...?

Guilt began to crowd her thoughts. Could it be possible that the man she had shot had shown kindness to her baby, that a Yankee could show any emotion other than hate for a southerner? Soon she could not take the guilt any longer. She had to do something, if only to give him a decent Christian burial. The others however would be left where they lay.

She stood up, taking a shovel and making ready to leave. Kissing her boy, she stoked up the fire . And put him back in the cot.

"I won't be long." She smiled at him.

A multitude of feelings swam within her as she trudged up the hill to where Inman had left them. She knelt by his body. He was so young, maybe less than a year older than she was. For some reason she felt compelled to touch his hand. As she did so she noticed a slight twitch of his head that could have been a trick of the early morning light.

Feeling rather foolish she spoke.

"Hello."

Then his eyes flickered open.


	2. Chapter 2

Hi I've been rushed so this longer than the last but shorter than I would like. Enjoy : )

2/ Christian Charity?

"OH!" Sara jumped backward, startled. And then as an afterthought, "You're not dead."

He coughed and his eyes closed sending him back into unconsciousness. Her senses numbed slightly by this sudden realisation, Sara's mind thought only of logic and human necessity. She must help him. She made sure that he was still alive by placing her hand against his neck utilising the scant training she'd received from her father; there was a weak pulse.

"I must get him inside." She thought."He'll certainly die if he stays here much longer." She proceeded to half – drag/ half – carry him over to the hut, making sure that she jostled the shoulder that had been hit as little as possible. As gently as she could, she placed him on a pallet that she prepared by the fire. She laid him on his front so as to best reach the wound. She could see blood had already saturated the shoulder of his shirt. She must act quickly or he would die of blood loss. She ripped apart the sodden cloth and gasped as she saw the wound. The shrapnel from the bullet had torn apart the flesh and buried itself inside. Although they were not deep inside. She put the poker in the fire and caught hold of a long, thin knife that she usually used to cut meat. Though she had not had meat in many months. Quickly, she used the knife to lever out the few pieces of metal lodged in the wound. There were three in total where the bullet had broken apart. More blood began to well out of the wound. The tip of the poker had begun to glow red. Pulling the metal shaft from the fire and placing a knee in the small of his back to prevent him moving, should he wake up and cause more damage to himself, she placed the tip of the poker in the wind and pressed. The metal sizzled and the blood flow stopped instantly. At least he was unconscious. Once she had cauterised the wound, she threw the poker back into the fire and began ripping up an old sheet. She bandaged the wound, wrapping the fabric around to hold fast. Once she had finished, she sat back and took a breath. Her son chose this moment to start bawling. Jumping up she, picked him up and rocked him, worried that he would wake the soldier.

"Shh." She whispered against his cheek and eventually he calmed. She was thankful that her boy hadn't caught a worse cold than before from the events of the morning. She made light bouncing movements and eventually he calmed down.

Sitting down on the bed, she watched the soldier, curiously.

There was still quite a large chance that he would die. Then she would be a murderess. It was an ugly thing to be. She held her boy tighter, rocking him as she felt him grow tired and fall asleep against her shoulder. She placed him back in his coat.

She walked over and placed a thin blanket over the youth and poked at the fire. Satisfied that she had done all that she could do, she stood up. Extinguishing the only candle in the room, she returned to her bed. The light from the coals was now the only source of light in the small hut, flickering across her back as she quickly removed her outer dress and put on her nightgown, casting nervous glances at the soldier. She had seen that it had grown dark outside and there was no moon.

A new fear rose within her. There could be other Yankee patrols, or worse, men from the village who would punish her from taking in a Yankee even more so than a deserter.

She secured the door and windows and laid herself down to sleep though she knew ot would be unlikely tonight.

For now she lay, her eyes open watching the stranger.


	3. Chapter 3

3/ A secret

She must have drifted into a kind of half sleep because she found herself torn from it when a single cry cut through the silence within the cabin. It appeared that the soldier was awake, though whether he was lucid was yet to be seen. She flew to his side. His body was basted in sweat though the fire had long died down into embers, with only a small semblance to the red dying coals. Pulling back the material of the makeshift bandage, she looked at the wound. It was sealed and raw but there was no sign of infection. He must have caught a fever from the shock of being hit and being left out in the bitter cold for hours. A fresh wave of guilt dug into her gut.

Combined with the blood loss, it was very likely that he was too weak to fight it off. She drew the blanket down to his waist and ripped off the remnants of the bloody shirt, throwing them in a corner. Water, she needed cold water, but not too cold. She put her hand against the kettle, it was long cold. Pouring a small amount into a tin mug, she raised the soldier's head and helped him drink. Half spilled down his chin but he took some. Laying his head back down, she sighed and pulled back. Reaching for a clean rag, she pulled of the lid and dropped it into the kettle. Squeezing out half the moisture, she proceeded to dab at his torso to bring his body heat down. She attempted to remain detached from her proximity but she felt her cheeks gradually glowing.

She soldier's eyes opened for a brief moment and fixed on her, dark, blue, beautiful softly piercing eyes. Then they closed and he was insensible again. She shook her head. It was better that he remained unconscious for as long as possible, the body's natural response to agony. And sleep was the greatest healer. Also to rid herself of the thought that had begun to form as she had sat mesmerised for the briefest of moments under his gaze.

It was three days before he was conscious again. Three days of fear and waiting. After this he seemed to grow stronger and the fever grew weaker. In these days, she had managed to get him to swallow a little warm broth but nothing else other than water. Other than the wounded soldier, she had taken in to her care, nothing else extraordinary occurred on her small piece if land. No Yankees or patrols passed their way. It was truly an isolated place, surrounded by nothing but trees and grassland. Wood had to cut and the animals fed. There was far too much work for one woman let alone, one woman with a baby and a sick man to care for. One good thing had passed however. Her baby boy had lost his own fever and was hungry again. Soon he would have to be weaned which meant that she needed more food. Amongst the work and work and work in the months after she had lost her husband, even before, she had been so lonely.

The day Inman had shown up was a blessing. And truth be told, dangerous or not, she would rather have this man here than not. She tried not to think of what he might do if he were to recover.

She had been carrying logs from the chopping block to the woodshed when he groaned and moved to sit up. Doing so tugged at the wound that already sung as if he had bathed it in acid. Seeing this, she dropped the wood and pushed his shoulder back against the pillow. He cried out in protest but stayed still. Warily, she removed her hand from his shoulder and edged backwards; casting her eyes around for a weapon of defence should he turn out to be like his companions. No matter how helpless he may have been before, he was a Yankee and she wouldn't trust him. Sensing her caution, he resolved not to move again.

"What happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"You're husband letting me go at gunpoint. The bastard must have shot me in the back."

"He's not my husband." She said a little too quickly and emphatically. "I mean, my husband died in battle. That man was a deserter I gave shelter too." She decided not to correct him on his assumption for the time being. Things were complicated enough already. She lowered her eyes.

"Don't worry, I don't care much about deserters, I suppose he's long gone now."

"Yes."

"Why did you take in an enemy soldier?"

"It seemed like the thing to do." She kept her eyes averted so that he would not see her guilt.

"The others are dead aren't they?" He spoke quietly as if he knew the answer already.

"Yes." He sighed. "What are you going to do now?"

"I haven't decided yet."

"Well, you can't go yet, you're wound's not fully healed yet."

"Ah yes, the wound, how long do you think it'll take to heal?"

"Not long, couple of weeks maybe, sealed and bandaged it."

"Thank you. How bad was I?"

"Quite bad, I thought you would die." She attempted to distract him from this train of thought. "You must be hungry; you've barely eaten anything in days."

"Days?"

"Yes, you were unconscious." She spoke matter-of- factly. "I'll get you some food." He didn't reply.

"You didn't tell me your name?"

"It's Sara."

"Sara, that's very beautiful." He didn't reply with his own.


	4. Chapter 4

4/ Personal Hygiene

I am sorry these chapters are not very long and far between, but i am a busy student, also , it is difficult to find many possible situations. I'm open to suggestions.

Sara came in from the cold, a few days later, to find that her patient was well enough to sit up, albeit with much effort. As she knelt by his side and checked the wound, which appeared to be healing successfully, she wrinkled her nose as she took note of the rather unpleasant aroma that he gave off. Having previously been as unwashed as your average young soldier and adding to that the remains of dried blood and sweat from the fever, it combined to create a smell not unlike the sty of the hog outside. She glanced over at the tin bath placed against the far wall where it hung from a strong nail hammered deep into the wood. He noticed her hesitation.

"Is something wrong with it?"

"Hmm, no not at all. You should have it fully healed in a matter of weeks, a month perhaps. There will be a scar however, apologies."

"Why are you apologising, it was not caused by you?" She found herself avoiding his eyes. She hoped that he would take it to mean that she was mortified as she broached her next topic.

"I was thinking that you will probably be needing a bath, you're still covered in blood and it would be best to keep the wound clean." She thought that she had managed to avoid the subject of smell quite well.

"That would be grand but if its an inconvenience..."

"No not at all, there's a brook not far from here."

His hair was matted and dishevelled so that a strand fell in such a way to half cover one eye. Sara was surprised to find herself fighting down an inclination to brush it off his face. Such beautiful eyes shouldn't be hidden, yes, they were unusual. She shook her head and placed her hands on her knees in order to stand up, her cheeks burning furiously as she marched outside and returning moments later for the two fetching pales in the corner. What on earth was the matter with her recently? Not only had she invited a deserter into her bed, regardless of what had or hadn't happened. And now she was entertaining thoughts of a less than pure, nursing capacity towards a man that she had almost killed, and a Yankee too. She came to the conclusion that she must be becoming quite insane from loneliness.

The trudge uphill to the small chattering brook and the laborious return was barely noticed as she remained a prisoner of her own thoughts. One thing was clear, she would pray that he would heal quickly and leave, she could only hope that he would not report the deaths of his comrades out of misplaced gratitude to her. She put her interest in him down to absence from the society of her fellow creatures. She felt a stab of pain as her husband's face swam in her mind, she had tried fro so long not to think about, her little boy had seen to it that she was far too busy for this to be difficult. She knew that she hadn't yet dealt with the full reality of her loss. She partially blamed him for leaving her all alone with their baby, deep in her subconscious.

When she returned to the cabin, she strived to appear busy so that he would not talk to her. This did not succeed. She filled the kettle and set it over a now stoked fire. She placed the rest of the water close to the fire to warm it a little. Wrestling the moderately heavy tin bath from walls, she managed to set it down by the fire. The young soldier had offered his help more than once but she had responded with an admittedly rather sharp, brusque reply. She did not dare turn around. The bath took very little time to fill. When she had finished, she set up a makeshift screen utilising a clothes horse and a spare sheet or two. Sara turned her back to give him some privacy. As she tended to her son, she heard the soft sound of clothing hitting the cabin floor, followed by the light swish of water disturbance. Deeming it a suitable time to turn around, she sat down on the bed and found herself within perfect viewing distance of a slight gap between the meeting of the two sheets. For a few moments she sat still, arrested by her mortification. When her brain began to function again, she turned her face away, her cheeks blushing furiously.

"Do you have soap?"

She looked up startled.

"Pardon?"

"Soap?"

"Oh." Reaching up to a high shelf, she took down the crude homemade bar and cut off a slice with slightly trembling fingers. She handed it through to him and then retreated to her embarrassment in the corner.

The young soldier had trouble sleeping that night. He was awoken by a strange sound that at first he couldn't make out. Turning his head slightly he saw that Sara had her back to him. Her shoulders were shaking slightly. With a startled realisation he saw that she was sobbing, the sound being muffled by a face buried in pillows. He found himself wanting to comfort the beautiful little widow but was at a loss to say anything useful. Besides it would most likely be seen as impertinent. So he settled for simply watching her. He wondered how long it had been since the death of her husband. Judging by the age of her son, it couldn't have been long. Turning on his back, he thought about how he had seen her watching him out of the corner of his eye, earlier that day and how he now wore clothes that used to belong to her husband. It was all so much less simple now. He sighed quietly and tuned to his side.

I'm sorry if I introduced the attraction too soon, i blame listening to enya, her music tends to put you in a dreamy, if a little mournful, romantic mood.


	5. Chapter 5

Thankyou for the suggestions and I will keep them in mind though until the ties between Sara and the soldier are a bit stronger I need them to stay in the hut. Sorry about the wait. : ) By the way, that is his real name (on IMDB), well, part of it. Hope you enjoy.

Sara aimed the axe at the log poised on the stump; she brought it down hard as her mind whirled in upheaval. She didn't understand why she experiencing something she had felt since she had met her husband at seventeen. And for a Yankee. He stirred something in her that she was having difficulty repressing. Everything was utterly wrong; she had tried to kill him. She was angry at him for this angry at herself and most of all at her husband for leaving her like this. All she seemed to feel recently was anger, confusion and a guily ear. Yes she had been so lonely for a long time. She brought down the axe again and again on each log until finally her frustration caused her to wedge it so far into the wood that it couldn't be pulled out. She kicked the stump, but this only caused her to fall backward onto the hard, damp ground.

"Has that tree stump done something particular to irritate you so much?" The soldier stood in the doorway. He had on a pair of trousers and had wrapped a thick grey blanket around his bare shoulders. He smiled at her for a moment before advancing. "Do you need a hand?" Seeing what he meant, she shot up off the ground.

"No, I was only stunned for a moment. You should be inside, you are still healing and the last thing that you need is to catch a chill out here." As if to qualify her statement, the wind suddenly picked up, pushing her hair forward over her face as she ushered him back into the hut. Casting one glance back at the axe as it lay still biting into the crudely crosshatched wood, she pulled the door closed behind them. She would have to leave it for the present. The soldier returned to his place by the fire and she joined him to stoke up the flames. As she poked at the embers, she felt his eyes on her.

"If only you would let me do something to help you. I feel useless and you have so much work to do without caring for me."

She straightened her back.

"I managed beforehand and you must rest." Yes, she could do with some help but she already felt guilty as it was having caused his injury in the first place without taking advantage of the situation. He would not understand unless should told him the truth and she had no intention of doing that until she was certain of his reaction. She placed a few more logs on the fire, from the tin bucket by the grate.

"Nevertheless I would prefer to be given something to do."

"What are you going to do; once you are well?" She asked, examining his face, He started.

"I haven't really thought about it. I suppose Ill have to try to rejoin my unit, though I haven't got the first idea how to explain what happened to my comrades. Perhaps just say that they were killed by a deserter from the other side although that would raise uncomfortable questions as to why I am not dead also."

"Don't!" He looked at her quizzically after her sudden outburst. "I mean to say, don't mention the deserter, he only killed those … men because they attacked me and I don't believe he meant to shoot you." It was the truth, well at least part of it. She expected him to pounce on the matter of his injury and how it was inflicted. But instead he gave her a concerned look.

"Attacked, they didn't manage … I'm sorry. I knew they were despicable and…"

"No." She interrupted him, anger and embarrassment filling her cheeks with colour. "It was close though." Anxious to change the subject and genuinely interested in the subject. "What is your name, you still haven't told me?"

"Oh. " He winced before admitting. "It's Maverick Bardolph, but nobody uses it, they call me Jack."

"I like it." At that very moment, her babe began to wail. She rushed over to pick him up. She pulled him onto her lap as she sat on the bed. "Could you?" She motioned for Jack to turn around.

"Oh." He jumped as she began to unbutton the front of her dress. She didn't think she's ever seen somebody spin around so fast. Luckily she didn't have to convince the boy to feed this time and he was soon full. She balanced him on her knee as she buttoned up her dress.

"Its ok now." A sudden idea came to her. "Do you want to hold him?" Jack turned back to face her.

"What me? No, I'm not exactly good with babies. I'll probably drop him."

"Don't be silly. " She walked over. "Just hold him for a moment, you said you wanted to help, me, well that's the best way you can. Hold out your arms, he's heavy."

Gingerly, he held them out and took him, a look of concentration on his face that almost made her laugh. She turned away picked up the leftovers bucket to take out to the hog. The sow was glad of the bits and Sara leant on the fence and watched her as gobbled up the bits. There was a distant rumble over to the north. She couldn't tell whether it was thunder or cannon fire. There was a storm coming of one type or another and she was sure that they would be near the eye of it.

When she walked back into the log cabin she found that Jack had grown more comfortable with her son and was making silly faces at him which made him giggle.

"You two seem to be getting on." She smiled and sat down on the bed again, tretching out after a hard day of grinding work that, despite what she said was getting too much for her. She was happy to rest for a moment. "Put him down and I'll see to your bandages."

She moved to the floor and knelt beside him as he gently lowered the boy into the cot. She found the pin and began to unwind the bandages. There was no blood so the wound hadn't reopened. He flinched as she removed the last of it, placing it on the floor by her knee. The wound was looking better everyday. Though it didn't prevent a mixture of guilt and nerves shooting through her every time she was reminded of its cause.

"Tell me about the war. Have you been in any of the battles?" She mainly asked him the question to distract herself from her thoughts. As she asked, she saw a sad, pensive look cross his face.

"Yes I was in one of the battles. It was a awful thing to see There were hundreds of us, wedged up against a bank, trapped where we charged and the other side shooting into the mass. We had begun the fight though by setting explosives under the fort. There were injured men's heads being pushed into the mud and people from the other side being dragged into the mess. Blood everywhere and death and for what? They say it's about slavery but its not. That's just a part of it, an excuse to attack. There are much less honourable reasons for this pointless war. Is there anything so disgusting as a civil war and its not as if you're given a choice." He clamped his mouth shut as he could see her thinking furiously.

"I'm sorry, you don't have to speak about it if it gives you pain." She ripped new bandages from the remnant of a worn, old sheet. 

"Its not that." He looked into her eyes for a moment and he lifted his hand as if to touch her face but let it drop as he seemed to remember something. "Despite everything that's happened, I'm glad that events have brought me here and that I've met you Sara and I hope that I can repay you for what you've done for me somehow." She smiled but then remembered how those words could be interpreted if one knew all. She finished with the bandages and then carried the others to be washed, her eyes downcast with sorrow and regret.

Please tell me what you think.


	6. Chapter 6

Excerpts

Jack watched Sara stamp in out of the cold, removing her scarf as she did so. She had gone out to pen the pig in a small hut that served as granary, storage and barn. She drew the bolt across and deposited a few meagre pickings she had managed to glean from the garden at the back. Those that had missed the harvest. She slung her coat over the end of her bed and took a place next to him by the fire. She refrained from speaking as she poked the fire that dance under a small, iron pot containing a broth of some kind which he had been stirring under instruction for the last ten to fifteen minutes. Above their heads the storm raged as wind and rain battled it out for supremacy, heating up for the climax. He was not accustomed to the sometimes temperamental weather of the south.

"How long will this continue?"

"If we're lucky it will be over by tomorrow morning."

"You expect it to last the night then?"  
"At least. The food will be done in an hour or so. I think it can be left to simmer for now, Don't add any more wood for now." She raised the pot slightly off the flames. Jack coughed. Having woken up with a chill he was not in the best mood. Despite the warmth of the fire, he hugged the blanket tighter around him. Sara stepped away from the fire and tucked in her son. She then sat down on the only chair she possessed and proceeded to stare into a dark corner.

Several hours later two pairs of eyes stared blankly at the ceiling as the baby slumbered through the storm. Jack sat staring into the flames as he listened to Sara's shallow breaths. He knew she was awake and he let her have her privacy. A cough spasmed up from his chest causing his insides to lurch. He pulled the blanket tighter and inched closer to the fire. He had no hope of sleep. The beating of the rain on the roof grew louder as if in agreement. The wind howled yet again. Jack shivered as yet another draught from under the door blew over him and was sucked up the chimney. They both remained, eyes open while the baby slept. He tossed another log on the fire causing bright sparks to rise and jump in a lazy pattern. He could not seem to get warm. He had woken with a chill and things had gone downhill from there. He shivered involuntarily.

"Jack, are you awake?" He started and turned to see Sara staring at him from the bed, her head raised on one slender forearm and bent wrist. She watched him silently.

"Yes." He answered grumpily. She swallowed audibly.

"You seem cold."

"Don't worry, its just a draught from under the door."

"But you've been coughing all day." She slipped out of the covers and knelt by his side, her nightdress all but glowing in the firelight. Hesitantly, she reached up a hand and felt his temple. H e had no explanation for why his heart leaped quite so high when she did this. "You don't have a fever."

"Quite the opposite." She frowned.

"You can have the bed, I'll sleep on the pallet." She culled his objections by pointing out that she didn't really intend to do any sleeping in it, her mind was working too much for that. But he, then insisted.

"You can't possibly expect me to allow a lady to sleep on the floor..."

"All right, you may share with me but I warn you soldier."

Sara blinked at the morning light, realising that she was much warmer than she usually found herself in the morning. She was also aware that a set of arms encircled her. She turned her head. Jack's head was a hair's breadth behind hers on the pillow. Unlike her, he remained asleep. She considered how to extricate herself and attempted to ignore how pleasant it felt to be held again. As lightly as she could, she grasped his arm and lifted it over her head, raising herself off the bed and his other arm as she disentangled herself; she froze. She heard and saw nothing to demonstrate that she was not still the only person awake in the small room. She reached the edge of the bed and lowered her bare feet onto the planks of the floor. She pulled a shawl from the rocking chair and draped it loosely around her shoulders. Her baby, of course, chose this exact moment to open his lungs. She dashed across the cabin and swept him up into her arms, hoping to calm him simply by touch. But he would not be claimed so easily. Jack stirred and finally awoke. Sara kept her back to him.

"Is the storm over?"

"It was over several hours ago, I think." She attempted to keep the blush from her cheeks as she witnessed a near stranger emerging from her bed. "I have decided, if the roads are not too bad, to go for supplies. I should not have needed to for a time but we shall run out soon. It is best to go before the storm returns."

"You cannot go alone?" He began to dress hurriedly.

"But you cannot accompany me, people would wonder why you are not fighting or a part of the men who are hunting down deserters. If they knew who you were they would kill you."

He had retrieved his uniform from the yard and he now brought out from his saddle bags a gold watch of dear worth. He then offered it to her as some part of the repayment he must owe for her kind nursing. He did however, state that it was not his, it had been lifted from a house that they had found empty or so his companions had indicated.

"I can't possibly take that."

"It was not from any house near here I assure you."

"Do you think that would make any difference to me?"

"Isn't it best to put the wrongs of a soldier to better use?" It was still some time before she could be convinced to take the watch, however. Eventually it was decided that he would disguise himself and accompany her. He would look after the baby while she bought what was needed in town.

They reached the road shortly. The road remained muddy from the storm and they kept to the sides, the banks when they had to. At any sign of approaching carts or horses, they would try for cover. This was not always possible. Sometimes they could only cover their faces and walk arm in arm. They were not stopped by any of the people who passed them by. The walk took three hours in total due to many stoppages and the hunger of her son. When they approached the town, she handed her boy to Jack and ventured in alone. He remained amongst a thicket of trees and waited.

Sara could not recall the last time she had ventured out into the town. It being so dangerous on the road as a single woman, even more so a single woman with a bairn. But need for supplies had forced her from her retreat. She drew several puzzled and quizzical looks but nothing too invasive. No one had anything other than polite nods and genial greetings for poor young widow. She entered the shop. She had pawned the gold watch and it had fetched a substantial amount. Certainly enough for what was needed. The general store was run by a family that had only daughters, they had not been hit so hard as most by the war. Only one had a sweetheart and he had been too young to be called to war. Sara was sure to make quick work of her purchases. She moved swiftly over the board floor of the shop amongst grain bags, salted meats and wooden farming implements. She bought a pound of rice, salt pork and some dried fish. The woman behind the counter, Mary Brewer was a young woman of thirty three and the mother of the three daughters, Clara, Bonnie and Angel, all under fifteen. Her husband had had a foot amputated due to a farming accident and so could not be a soldier. Sara saw his cane by the counter and assumed correctly that he must be tallying accounts in the back room.

"Oh Sara, we haven't seen you in some time. We were so sorry to hear about your husband. It must be hard to live in such a solitary spot and with only a babe for company."

"I manage well enough." Sara gave a small smile. She had known this woman since their days in the parish church and school. She had always looked up to the girl ten years her senior.

"Are you sure you wouldn't like one of us women to come and sit with you sometime?" The offer would have been welcome a month before.

"No, I shouldn't like to take any woman away from her own in such times."

"It must be dangerous to live so far out, have you heard about the Yankie raids all along the country hereabouts, I thank God that they have left our town in peace. But you are so exposed out there. Have you not seen any ?"

"No, I suppose even the Yankies have trouble finding me."

"Perhaps so." The woman did not look entirely convinced. Sara took her purchases and made her goodbyes to the woman and her husband.

She had not left the shop five minutes before she found herself confronted by Simon Lee Jark, a troublemaker and a thief. He now appeared in the uniform of town protector or so he thought. His usual lackeys brought up the rear. Patrick Keele and Thomas Barker.

"Simon let me pass."

"What's the matter, we only mean to warn you that the Yankies were last seen heading your way."

"Well, I haven't seen them but if I had, I would be sure to tell you."

"But with all these soldiers and deserters about, it can't be safe for a pretty little widow like yourself, You should have a strong man to protect you."

"No, I have a large gun to protect me. Trust me, gentlemen."

"You think that one rifle would stop a group of starving men from taking what they wanted." She couldn't prevent a shiver from travelling through her as she caught the leer from his companions and was reminded of her encounter with just such an event.

"It will have to." She pushed through them,

"We shall have to visit you and make sure nothing is untoward about the place." It sounded very much like a threat.

"Leave her be." Sara turned and almost stumbled into Sam Tirus Grimsby, a young man who had been born with a club foot and her friend for many years.

"Let the cripple have her, Simon, we'd much rather be protecting Tara Bloomer from Yankie soldiers than a widow with a baby. Sara continued walking, though she slowed her pace so that Sam could keep up.

"It's good to see you Sara." Sam was fair with sandy locks and a light dusting of freckles. His kind brown eyes smiled at her. "I've missed seeing you these past three months."

"Oh, I've been meaning to visit you but the weather's been bad and as you can imagine, I've had to stay with my boy."

"Where is little Tom?"

"I didn't bring him, I left him with May at Juniper Fell Farm. She was the closest." She was surprised at the ease with which the lie rolled off her tongue, she had never been so deceitful before.

"Oh, I should have liked to see him. Does he look like... I'm sorry,"

"No, you can mention him, he was your friend." Talking with a trusted friend of hers and her husband's brought her back to memories as yet unvisited till then. Her eyes stung a little and she turned away.

"All the same, I shouldn't have said anything. It is a long way, at least let me carry that heavy bag of grain/ rice for you."

"Thank you but it is not so heavy as it looks, I assure you. I should manage well enough." Her pace slowed as they neared the edge of the small town.

"Perhaps I shall see you in church when your boy is a little older." Sara smiled her best atempt at lightness and nodded. She took Sam's hand.

"I missed you Sam. Things have been so...hard for the past year. I hope that things may not weigh so heavily as they have done so far."

"The war must end sometime." He gave her a cheerful smile. "Eh?"

"Yes." She smiled and walked onward, leaving him behind.

She kept silent for the better part of the walk home and Jack allowed her her solitude. He hoped that she might one day trust him to allow him into her confidence for he was sure far more troubled her than she let the world know.

On their return, she suddenly spoke. They entered the hut and she turned her back as she stored her purchases.

"Jack, I don't know what to do. There is a group of men that I mentioned before that cornered me in town. They expressed an interest in coming here to hunt down deserters or Yankee soldiers. If they find you here, I don't know what would happen. I should think that they might find the bodies and ... "

"You don't think that they actually intend to come here?"

"I think it very likely but it may be some time before they decide to act on their threats. I can't think what I should do."

"What did the deserter do with the bodies?"

She thanked God that this had not been done at a later date and that the weather had not been warmer, otherwise she was sure that she would not be able to stomach what they were about to do. Jack had asked her whether she thought she was able to face again the bodies of the men that had attempted to violate her. She had responded by asking the same of him, whether he could bury his comrades. Neither refused. She had lead him to the place where she had left them. This had brought her back to the moments when she had discovered that the man that she had supposedly murdered, was alive still. Now they returned with shovels. The ground gave in easily have being wetted by the torrential downpour. By the time the two had removed enough soil from a sizeable pit, both were covered from head to toe in mud. It was a sobering task. They grasped the men by wrists and ankles before hurling them into the pit. They made a sickening plop as they hit the wet earth. A cloud seemed to burst above and the two conspirators found themselves sopping as shovel after shovel of wet earth splatted into the pit.

"The earth looks as if its been disturbed, we should cover it with something." Jack stabbed his shovel into the wet dirt. Both searched the near landscape. Sara set off wordlessly, returning with an armload of leaf mould which she scattered over the grave-site. Jack nodded. "We should gather some dead wood." He set off. Sara watched him walk up the hill. She wondered then what he must be feeling, forced as he was to bury his dead comrades. He had become far more stoic than appeared to be normal for him. This man might be the death of her yet. So why was it that she couldn't bring herself to do the sensible thing and ask him to leave?


	7. Chapter 7

Sorry I'm taking so long to update. This is more of a half chapter that a full one. But it more intense than the others.

Sara sat in the large tree and had hung her basket on a branch near her thigh. It was not ladylike to be up a tree. Mama would not be happy. Except Mama and Papa were not there to stop her. No one was there for her. She was utterly alone. The threat that had been given of the home guard coming to investigate had come to nothing as of yet but they were still wary. But as December had swooped down on them as they had not celebrated All Hallows and she was checking up on a clump of mistletoe that grew half way up an old tree within a mile of her house. It was growing much colder and it was growing harder to ignore how the soldier shivered from the draught by the door.

"Sara, what are you doing?" Startled, she almost fell out of her place, only managing to grip the wide branch in front of her at the last possible moment. "I'm sorry." She shot an angry look down at him.

"I'm wondering whether to collect this mistletoe or not, it seems smaller than the last few years."

"Why didn't you use a ladder?"

"I don't own one and the only saw I got is shot. So I can't make one."

"Could you come down, you're making me nervous. I have to talk to you."

"What's so important that you have to tell me on the ground?" She paled. "IS it the baby?"

"What? No. He's sleeping." He frowned. "I'd just really rather prefer it if you came down here so we could talk face to face." He slipped his hand into his pockets awkwardly, then slipped them out again. She rolled her eyes and began the awkward process of descending the tree in a dress. She would have worn breeches if she dared. She was around ten foot off the ground when her foot slipped and she found herself dangling from one arm off a branch that creaked ominously. When she had fallen she had slipped too far away from the tree to swing back easily. She managed to grasp it with her other hand and tried to edge along toward the trunk but there came a very loud crack and the branch began to come away from the tree. She stilled in horror as it have a final snap and she was free-falling. She let go of the branch and closed her eyes, preparing for impact. It did come but was not nearly as hard as she imagined. She opened one eye and looked up into the face of the soldier. Relief washed through her before she saw the look in his eyes. There was a fierce sort of look that was somewhere between anger and adoration. She thought he would say something, instead, he let her down and began to walk away. Flustered, she spoke in haste.

"Say something, you can't just look at me like that and not say something." He turned around and seemed to make a decision. He darted forward and scooped her up in his arms, he gave her an intense look before capturing her lips with his. His arms tightened around her. She found her own arms sliding around his neck. There was far more passion in her own kiss than she would have ever expected. She knew she should be angry with him and herself but at that precise moment she didn't care. He broke away as fast as he had embraced her but he did not let her go.

"I'm leaving. That was what I meant to say. I just wanted to do that once before I left." He took a breath. "I must leave before the snows come. I mean to join my regiment again if I can. That is if had no reason to stay." He looked into her eyes for something. She looked at him with incomprehension.

"What would you stay for?" He let her go abruptly. Disappointment was clear on his face. She realised her mistake too late as he returned to the house.

"I'll be gone before the snows. It is best, just in case the men find me here." She thought of calling after him but wasn't sure that she wanted to. She sighed when she saw that her basket was still nestling in a branch far above her reach. Well, leave it there. She would leave her other problem to ruminate too.

Jack paced back and forth. He would not return to the cabin yet. So, he contented himself with digging up potatoes. He had meant what he said. He knew that she was mistrustful and conflicted. Behind all the sadness, he saw something else, he could almost call it guilt. What would she feel the need to be guilty? He didn't want to leave her but it was becoming more and more likely that his side would win the war. If they found him here. If he didn't have any reason to put his life on the line, he'd best find one of his party and try to think up a story involving his comrades that didn't get either him or Sara hanged. The pile beside him was rapidly rowing and he had better stop himself before he unearthed Sara's entire winter stock. He dropped the spade and took an armful of potatoes. He hadn't thought to bring a sack in his haste. He stomped back towards the cabin. He bagged up the potatoes and dumped them on top of the corn. Sara sat by the fire. Her arms were crossed over herself. She made a vague motion in lieu of a greeting. She didn't look at him.

"Did you mean what you said?" He nodded quietly. "I think that if it's the best thing then you should go." She bit her lip but didn't turn her gaze away from the fire. Jack looked down.

"Will you do something for me? Tell me that you want me to leave."

"What?" Sara froze, her head darted to look at him in shock.

"You heard me. Tell me that and I'll leave."

"Why do you want me to … What can that possibly achieve?"

"It will give me the revolve to leave."

"Do you want to go?"

"You're avoiding the question."

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"Because I need to know."

"I don't want..." He turned his head.

"What don't you want?" He held her gaze.

"I don't want you to go." She sighed.

"But do you want me to stay?"

"I..." He walked toward her.

"What is it that is holding you back Sara? Is it your husband? You know, you mustn't let him keep you from living your life."

"It's not that." She looked down. "There's something you don't know."

"What, what is it? Did those bastards hurt you?" 

"No, nothing like that. Look, you don't understand. When I said that Inman, the deserter, shot you in the back, I lied. It was me. I was angry and protecting my boy. I didn't know what you did. I thought you were like them." He was backing away. "Jack, look at em, all I can say is that I'm sorry." When he did look at her, it was clear he was angry and hurt.

"So, it wasn't out of the goodness of your heart that you helped me, it was guilt. I knew there was something you felt beside mistrust but I didn't realise it was this. How could you look at me and smile. Instead of sadness she found that she was getting angry.

"You didn't give me much choice. You come in here with your rapist friends and bash your way into my home and my head and... I made a mistake. You don't know how difficult it was to convince myself not to leave you for dead. I needed to protect my baby. And yes, I hid it from you. I knew you would react like this or worse. I tried to patch up my mistake as best I could. It happened and I can't change that. Don't make me apologise for protecting my family. I just, I can't.." She sank down to the ground. With horror, she found that she was crying.

"I'm sorry that I've been such an inconvenience." His face was firm.

"Don't do that. You want to know everything. I care about you. I didn't want to. I was going to send you on your way none the wiser once you were well but you had other plans. Why did you keep pushing? Why do you keep tormenting me? I don't deserve this." She was sobbing loudly now, using her sleeves to mop up her tears. "III have been through too much." Through her fingers, she saw his shoulders slump.

"Gah." He made a sound somewhere between anger and exasperation. He stood up and the boards creaked beneath his feet. She looked away. He pulled her hands away from her face. "Don't you see it, Sara? I've been falling in love with you from the moment I saw you. I've hated myself for not trying to help you when they … I was a coward. I suppose I deserved to be shot. I just wish you could have been able to tell me." He grasped her hands. Sara looked at him through red – rimmed eyes.

"Why did you have to say that?" Sara looked beseechingly at him. Jack, rubbed her hands and moved his hands to her face. He kissed her before pulling her into his arms. Her breathing returned to normal eventually. "You took the wind out of my sail a bit. How can I be angry if your being so understanding?"

He shrugged. "What are you going to do?"

A loud knock came at the door.

"Sara? You there."


End file.
